Because of a Book
by A Kugelschreiber
Summary: France's favorite book is A Tale of Two Cities, which England really doesn't get. After he insults France's taste in stories,the two are suddenly confronted with their past. Literally. Hilarious drama ensues and soon England has a revelation. But the frog is still a frog right? Even if Winston Churchill says otherwise...


**Right, so here is another FrancexEngland oneshot. I realized I like writing oneshots better than multichap fics. It gives me more time to do other stuff. So... hope you enjoy this!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

"You frog. Why do you always have to find it necessary to invade _my _house and sit on _my couch_ and make fun of _my _tea? You have a house of your own you know! So just what the hell are you doing?"

England sat in an armchair, vintage teacup and saucer in hand as he stared at his French adversary stretched out on the sofa opposite him. And he was quite aware that every word he just said went into one ear and came swishing out the other for the other man barely shifted from his position from reading a book.

"Isn't it obvious?" France replied in a slightly annoyed tone, which angered England even more. Why the hell was France sounding irritated when he was the intruder? "I'm reading a book. Mon dieu, check your eyesight or something."

"I know you're reading a book!" England growled as he set his tea down and stood up. If this situation were anything like their usual disputes, he knew it would be best if he didn't have anything in his hands to avoid a mess. "But why the hell do you have to come to my house to read?"

Staring at the blond man, he noticed no change in the other's chiseled expression. France's sky blue eyes were the only things moving as they skimmed every fine print word upon the page in front of him.

"Because," France said distractedly, "I enjoy British literature."

England blinked at the oddity of his statement. "You're reading British literature?"

France let out a hum which England could only assume was a "yes" as he flipped the page with pale and slender fingers. The Englishman's anger soothed a bit as he realized France liking British literature wasn't too peculiar. It was like him harboring a secret liking for French authors like Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo.

"..So, what are you reading?" he decided to ask, quickly scanning over at his bookshelf to see if he could catch the missing book.

"Charles Dickens," the Frenchman muttered, and England heard the crisp sound of yet another page being turned. "A Tale of Two Cities."

England couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course France would pick that one out of all the options on his shelf.

"I should have known. Isn't that like the seventh time you've read it though? You never put that book down!"

The other man only shrugged and England realized he only saw France this mute when he was reading _A Tale of Two Cities_.

"I think the book is intriguing."

The sandy haired man could only scoff. "Are you serious? I find it a bit boring at times. I bet the only reason you like it is because of the soppy love story."

At this, France finally lay his book down and stood up, meeting England eye to eye. His brow was furrowed and his lips were quivering as if he were shifting through words, trying find which were most appropriate to say. At last, all that came out of his mouth was,

"I'm sorry you cannot appreciate the genius of your own authors."

England felt his eyebrow twitch.

"Excuse me? I'm not disgracing Charles Dickens! I am merely saying that _A Tale of Two Cities_ is a very dry book and you're just a hopeless romantic who likes that kind of stuff! Now why don't you get out of my personal space git."

Of course, it had completely slipped his mind that _A Tale of Two Cities_ wasn't just a love story but also about the horrors of the French Revolution. Then again, it had been so long since he read the book that the idea that France could connect with the book had completely escaped him.

France crinkled his nose and didn't move an inch. "You have just as bad taste in books as you do food."

As soon as England heard the words "bad taste" and "food" in the same sentence, something in him snapped, like it always did when he was with France. Grabbing the other by the collar, he violently shook him.

"Bad taste? I'll show you bad taste when you taste blood in your mouth you bloody wanker!"

A distasteful smirk rose to France's lips as he forcefully yanked chunks of the Englishman's hair.

"I'm sure French blood tastes a whole lot better than your filthy English blood."

Before England's fist could plunge into France's pearl white teeth, a disgusted feminine voice rose from behind them.

"Je ne le crois pas! I spent my childhood making sure the war between you two ended and you're still at it? What the hell did I die for then?"

Never letting the other go, the two nations whipped their heads around to face a young teenage girl. Her cropped blond hair was tied into a ponytail with a navy blue ribbon and dressed in archaic French battle armor. Her eyes were unmistakably that of a martyr's.

France blinked.

"Jeanne? Quoi? What are you….?"

Joan of Arc merely shook her head, disappointed.

"And here I thought I died for a level headed country. Not an idiot."

England couldn't help but howl in laughter as he let go of the bewildered and stuttering France and clutched his stomach.

"Suck that frog!" he managed between his gasps for breath. "Even your _patron saint_ thinks you're an idiot."

France opened his mouth to retaliate angrily. However he never got any words out for a louder and more demanding voice was heard.

"Now hold on just one minute young man!"

The English nation cringed as he recognized the stern voice.

"Qu-Queen Elizabeth? Y-Your Majesty?" he squeaked and knelt when he saw a much larger women standing next to an irritated Joan of Arc. Her expression was fierce and fiery behind her powdered make up-one England wasn't ever going to forget. He knew Elizabeth the first was going to give him the lecture of a lifetime.

"Boy, you're fighting like a load of Protestants and Catholics! I'm quite sure I made it clear I wouldn't have any of that when I assumed the throne! You understand me? Now I think that what this young lady is saying applies to both of you."

England heard France snicker uncontrollably next to him.

"Y-yes your majesty. S-sorry your majesty."

Elizabeth nodded austerely. "Good. Then I suggest you two leave your hands at your sides and make peace this minute!"

Grumbling inwardly, England began to face a still laughing France whose cheeks were now a faint pink. Resisting the urge to say "sod off" in front of his old queen and a martyr he burnt at stake centuries ago, the sandy haired man was about to offer his hand in reluctant peace when an obnoxiously loud and aristocratic voice spoke out that made both Joan and Elizabeth look to their left in annoyance.

"Attendez un moment!"

"Bloody hell," England muttered as the nations came face to face with a man, if he could be called that, with ridiculously curly hair that could have made that one American football player, Troy Polamalu, jealous. The man was clearly of royalty for a large arabesque crown was situated atop his head, his face was powdered to no extent and the richness of his robes and breeches could easily be seen even by a lay man.

The blond nation beside him let out an audible groan and face palmed. It could be clearly seen that Elizabeth and Joan had the urge to do so as well.

"Merde, what are _you _doing here," France cursed with disgust and England figured he was probably one of France's infamous kings.

The man did a dramatic hand-heart.

"Excusez moi? I am King Louis the fourteenth! L'etat, c'est moi! I demand you to kneel before me and then explain why you were about to make peace with that _Angleterre_!"

Louis's voice was rich with stubbornness and feelings of being better than all others and England could tell why the other nation didn't have a very good opinion of him. The French nation scoffed.

"As if. There is no way I am bowing to you, you avarice oaf! You spent all of my money on your stupid palace in Versailles!" he growled and folded his arms. "And then you just had to wage three wars. I've lost all respect for you so don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

"And now it has become one of your most famous tourist spots," Louis sneered as he examined his fine nails- a habit England had observed France indulging in many times. "Besides, France is too great of a nation to kneel to those filthy English rats."

"EXCUSE ME?" Elizabeth roared as tugged on Louis's hair ferociously with a large hand, receiving a resonant squeal from him. Joan only laughed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Another ridiculously polished Frenchman popped up out of nowhere next to the currently attacked Louis the fourteenth. He was also paler and plumper, which only signified excessive wealth that he abused thoroughly.

"Is he…..?" England began looking over at the now tense France who's eyes had begun to boil with rage.

"Yes," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. "Louis the fifteenth."

"How about you be a good man and bow before me France?" the fatter man suggested in a smug manner. "We did beat the English after all."

"Yeah! In the _American_ revolution! Which _you _aided when I WAS BANKRUPT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" France retaliated as he slammed his fist on the coffee table.

_Blimey_, England thought. _He's really getting it isn't he? At least Her Majesty Victoria hasn't popped up yet or else I'll really be embarrassed. I wonder if Louis the sixteenth will-_

As if on cue, another much more flabby man with much _more_ makeup on appeared and England knew this was most definitely Louis the sixteenth. Next to him was a beautiful and charming lady with an incredulous large white wig who was eating cake and could only be the fair Marie Antoinette. She innocently offered them all cake except for Joan who she seemed to regard with contempt and crinkled her nose as if the other girl smelled foul.

_They just keep getting fatter don't they?_ _But who's behind Louis the sixteenth?"_

Just as France was yelling at all three of the fat arse kings at how they were the worst kings in the history of kings, especially Louis XVI, a much more slender man peered over the king's shoulder, a ridiculously sharp knife in hand that he placed at Louis's throat. His expression reminded England of that of Belarus's.

"I say we just chop all their heads off and be done with it, don't you think so France?"he croaked in a psychopathic voice and France cringed behind England in fear.

"Hide me England! It's Robespierre!" he yelped, clutching the Englishman's shoulders in fear. "I don't want to start another Reign of Terror!"

"I-It's okay France. You'll be alright," England soothed his enemy, patting his hand lightly. He couldn't help but realize how crappy France's rulers had been in the past.

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, England heard Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, speak an "I am not amused" and she was answered by Napoleon Bonaparte with an "Oh you most certainly won't be when I invade your country".

Two seconds later a much more modern Henri Petain yelled over the chaos about how "France is the greatest nation and shall never bow to anyone" and France himself had literally climbed onto England's shoulders was screaming at how Petain was a traitor and a coward because he surrendered to the German's in 1940.

England felt his eyebrow twitch again in frustration and a deep headache was now seeding itself into his skull. He was about to join France and begin screaming at the top of his lungs for his past to shut the hell up when he heard,

"Poor chap isn't he?"

The sudden calm voice in the midst of all the yelling and screaming pulled at England's attention like an oasis in the desert and he turned as best as he could without letting France fall from his shoulders to meet a plump and wise looking man smoking a cigar.

"Winston Churchill," England acknowledged as a greeting. "A blessing you are right now. Think you can calm them all down?"

He motioned to an extremely hysterical France who had fallen from his shoulders anyway and was now trying to help Joan and Napoleon strangle Robespierre who was trying to cut Marie Antoinette's head off who was trying to have a cat fight with Queen Victoria. Elizabeth was currently stomping all over the three Louis's and Petain was trying to escape the scene.

"Oh no you don't sonny," Churchill growled as he grabbed Petain by the collar and held him there. Turning back to England, he merely shrugged.

"I can't stop the past son. This is your and France's history and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Yeah but," England protested his eyes scanning the raging France's expression, "I'm afraid France is going to explode trying to strangle his own past!"

Churchill merely chuckled and drew in a large breath from the cigar.

"So you've finally noticed huh?"

The English nation only blinked. "Excuse me?"

With the flick of his wrist, the World War 2 hero discarded the decaying part of his cigar and put it back into his mouth.

"France is trying to fight his past more than he is yours. By the looks of it, he hasn't even bothered fighting Elizabeth or Victoria. Hell, he hasn't even noticed _me_ yet."

England surveyed the situation again and noticed the anger, rage and hurt that built up on France's face as he pinned Louis the fourteenth to the ground with Robespierre's knife. When he didn't respond, Churchill continued, struggling to hold onto a resisting Petain,

"Though he may admittedly be a pain in the arse, the great country he has become today despite his past is astounding. I mean, look at that! He's got three kings, plump as turkeys, who are the epitomes of greed and gluttony, a psychotic middle class man who ordered much of France's population to fall at the hands of the guillotine, and then this German traitor! In fact, Joan and Napoleon are more a blessing than anything else."

"I guess that's true…"England muttered, bringing his gaze back to Winston Churchill's.

"Of course," his former prime minister stated, "I'm not saying you haven't had bad times, because you definitely did my boy! But you have always prospered even while he suffered, yet he's still here sitting with you as a country of equal power! My boy, he's got a larger economy than you! Don't you ever wonder if he deserves more respect from you than you give him?"

England chewed on his lip as he contemplated Churchill's words. Sure he had fought France for centuries, but it dawned upon him that France had often fought himself more than England ever had. The French Revolution, the Revolutions of 1848, the Vichy Republic, hell didn't he just go on strike because of retirement issues?

And here he was, standing where Austria could never be and Russia still hadn't reached. Maybe he did get more shit from England than he deserved.

A small and sad smile tugged on his lips as he realized why France read _A Tale of Two Cities_ all the time. It reminded him of his people and how they struggled and prevailed despite their hopeless leaders as well as how romance couldn't be forgotten in such desperate times. Typical France.

He was still a frog though.

"You know what Winston? I do understand…"

Churchill merely chuckled once more and suddenly there was only air where he stood.

England blinked in surprise and then realized the chaos in front of him had quieted down. Quizzically, he shot a look at France who was now lying on the ground, heaving raspy breaths. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were just as puzzled as England's.

"…They are gone?" the Frenchman asked, climbing to his feet.

England nodded. "It would appear so. That was weird."

"Tres ridiculous. I swear, if I was going to have to deal with those incompetent bastards again, I was going to ask Napoleon to shoot me."

"You're such a drama queen France," England chortled as he scouted the now worn out copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ that was splayed out on the ground.

Picking it up, he smoothed the pages and handed it back to France as peace effort.

"I'm….sorry about earlier. I guess I can see why you like it so much," he muttered, not bothering to look at France's face.

"Angleterre….did you just say sorry?"

The Englishman remained mute.

"You did, didn't you? You did you did you did…"

"Yeah? And I won't say it again you bloody frog! Just take the book," England retorted, shoving the book into France's lean hands. "And you can keep it. I have more copies. Just give me _The Count of Monte Cristo _in return."

A sly smile spread across France's face as he accepted England's "gift".

"Ohonhonhon Angleterre. I didn't know you had a thing for French literature."

"Dammit! I never said I did! Now stop ruining the moment or I will lose all newfound respect for you."

And since he had decided earlier on not to give France anymore shit than he needed, England merely stormed out of the room to calm himself down as the other blond nation grinned and threw himself on the couch, opening the book up again.

_I'll only leave him alone for today though_, England mused as he made his way into the kitchen. _I can't go soft on my dear old enemy for too long now can I?_

As the tranquil scene played out, somewhere in the shoe closet outside the living room, two boys sat hushed as they peeked out through the cracked open door.

"You think it worked?"America said, sitting uncomfortably with a large sorcery book in his lap.

"Well, they aren't fighting. It's been peaceful for…. a whole five minutes now," Canada answered, checking his watch.

"Man, I have got to get me this magic book thing."

**So I admit, it's not the best written thing. Sorry for all bad grammar and bad French!**

_Translations: _

Je ne le crois pas!= I do not believe it!

Attendez un moment!= Wait one moment!

L'etat c'est moi= I am the state

**If you did not understand the historical and literary references:**

A Tale of Two Cities:  A love story between an English woman and an aristocratic Frenchman during the French Revolution.**  
**

Joan of Arc:  Martyr of 100 years war.

Queen Elizabeth I:  Queen of England who settled the Protestant and Catholic dispute in England and defeated the Spanish Armada.

King Louis XIV:  First absolute ruler of France. Used a whole lot of wealth to show off is power. Built Palace of Versailles and pretty much made France bankrupt.

King Louis XV: Helped the American Revolution, further throwing France into bankruptcy.

King Louis XVI: The worst king of France ever. His head was cut off publicly in 1792.

Marie Antoinette:Louis XVI's wife. Famous for saying "let them eat cake!" when she was told of France's lower citizen's suffering. Head cut off 1793.

Robespierre: A radical against aristocrats in the French Revolution. Began the Reign of Terror which was basically a mass execution of people, not just aristocrats, that went on for years. He eventually got his head cut off.

Queen Victoria: The longest reigning monarch of England. 60 years.

Napoleon Bonaparte:Great French military leader.

Henri Petain : Head of the Vichy government (German puppet govt in France) in WWII. Surrendered to Germany.

Winston Churchill: First Prime Minister of England and WWII hero.

**So if you didn't know some of those details, hopefully you can understand the story better. Sorry I'm just a total history freak. I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought!**

**(That means review!) xD**


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